


Pas de Deux

by ladymac111



Series: Miss Holmes [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ballet, Christmas, Dancing, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Glasses, Holidays, M/M, Parallel Stories, Parentlock, Romance, Slice of Life, Slow Dancing, Tags Are Fun, Teenagers, Winter, not ballet!lock, please don't read anything into the order of the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:22:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymac111/pseuds/ladymac111
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a Saturday in December, and the residents of 221B have plans with the ones they love.</p><p>Two stories told in parallel: one about Sherlock and John, the other about Alexa and her best friend Marie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Entrée

**Author's Note:**

> On the rating: This story is really two stories told in parallel. The one about Sherlock and John (odd numbered chapters) is rated Explicit, and the one about Alexa and Marie (even numbered chapters) is rated Teen.
> 
> This story contains a fair bit of ballet-related discussion. I've done my best to be accurate, though my own experience is very limited. (I took beginner ballet through the rec center when I was six, and I've watched more dance movies on Netflix than I care to admit.) Internet research can only get me so far when I get intimidated by French words! If you are more knowledgeable than I and find errors, please let me know so I can fix them.
> 
> The music stuff, though, I'm very confident on. And there will be a LOT about music.
> 
> The story is set the winter after the end of "Miss Holmes." Alexa is 14, and has been living with Sherlock and John full-time for about six months.
> 
> Updates every Saturday through the winter solstice.

John looked up from the _Independent_ when Alexa came clattering down the stairs, and stared at her as she switched the kettle on and grabbed her travel mug.

“What are you _wearing_?”

She raised an eyebrow in an expression that made her look just like her father. “Good morning to you too, Papa.”

Sherlock glanced up, smirked, and hid behind the _Times_.

John tried again. “What's on your legs?”

“Leggings.”

He stared. They were printed with bright splotches and swirls of colour, bounded at the bottom by her pink Converse high-tops and at the top by a black miniskirt that only barely covered her bum. She had finished the outfit with a black sequined shirt. “Are you … going somewhere?”

“Um, yeah. Marie's dance thing is today.”

“What dance thing?”

“You know, her studio's open house. I told Dad two weeks ago.”

John glared at his husband, who was still holding the paper in front of his face. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. He said it was fine, he has some plans with you anyway.”

“He didn't mention any plans.”

Sherlock folded a corner down and quirked a single eyebrow. “It's a surprise.”

“Don't feel bad, he wouldn't tell me either.”

“How is that supposed to make me not feel bad?”

The kettle boiled, and Alexa filled her cup, then pulled on her coat and grabbed her bag from its usual spot by the door. She detoured briefly to say goodbye to them where they sat at the table in the sitting room. She gave Sherlock a little hug, then kissed John's cheek. He kissed back out of reflex even as he scowled. “Just once I'd like to be in the loop on one of these grand Holmes plans.”

She smiled at him. “Have a nice day.”

“You too, sweetheart.”

“Text me when you're on your way back,” Sherlock said.

“I will. It might be late.”

“That's fine.” He shot John a heated look. “Just keep us informed.”

“Will do. Bye!”

And she was off down the stairs and into the cold December morning, while John felt pinned to his seat with breathless anticipation at the suggestion in Sherlock's eyes. “Plans, huh?”

“Yes, plans.” Sherlock folded the newspaper and set it haphazardly aside, then rose gracefully to stand behind John, hands resting lightly on his shoulders and breath tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “Plans that all three of us would rather our daughter _not_ know any details of.”

“It does sort of kill the mood when you mention her,” John said, trying to keep the edge of arousal out of his voice. “Is there some occasion, other than her absence for the day?”

A soft kiss pressed into the side of his neck, just below his ear. “I'm surprised you don't know.”

“Should I?”

“It's our anniversary.”

John laughed as he twisted in his chair and wrapped an arm playfully around Sherlock's hips. “No it isn't; our anniversary is in June.”

Sherlock frowned. “Obviously. This isn't a whole number anniversary. It's a year and a half.”

John grinned up at him. “That's not how it works.”

“Isn't it? Well, then, I guess I should cancel our plans and take your gift back.”

“Hold on, you got me a gift? I didn't get you anything.”

“I don't care.” He leaned his hip into John's shoulder and ran his fingers through sandy hair. “It was actually meant to be a Christmas gift, but I wanted you to have it sooner.”

“You old romantic.”

“If you ever say that in front of another human being I'll file for divorce.”

John stood up and gathered Sherlock into a sweet kiss. “Don't worry, love, your secret's safe with me.”


	2. Andante

Marie was at the bus stop when Alexa arrived, and grinned as she pulled her into a quick hug before they began the half-mile walk to the studio. “It's so great that you could come. And you can stay as long as you like?”

Alexa nodded, and pulled her scarf higher around her face. “Yep. The longer the better, actually.”

“That's right, it's your dads' anniversary, isn't it?”

“Not exactly. A year and a half, but that's occasion enough for them to want me out of the flat for a while, and frankly I'm happy to escape when they're making eyes at each other like that.”

Marie laughed. “They're probably shagging each other brainless in the sitting room right now.”

“Don't remind me.” Alexa rolled her eyes. “At least I got Dad to promise never to share details with me ever again.”

“I'm sure your Papa has some creative threat of his own.”

“Of course he does. Though I'm sure it's one I don't want to know about.”

“I'm sure,” she chuckled. “They're really like that all the time? They don't just do it when I'm around to, like, embarrass you or something?”

“God knows Dad loves to mess with people, but no, that's business as usual in 221B.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. At least you never saw them before we got Dad trained to always wear his pants.”

Marie laughed and nudged Alexa with her shoulder. “You and your Papa have the patience of saints.”

“He's not so bad, really.”

“Really?”

“Well. He's worth it, at any rate.”

Marie smiled at her. “I'm really happy it worked out with you and them.”

“Me too. It's nice to have a real home again.”

“Oh, I was being selfish,” she said lightly, and Alexa elbowed her with a grin. “It's great to have you around; I missed you something awful after I moved out here with Mum.” She pulled the door open and ushered Alexa into the building. “Have you been here before?”

“Yeah, once. Only for a few minutes though.”

“I have a bit of time before I have to get ready to help the little ones; I'll show you around.”


	3. Dolce

Sherlock clung to John as they both rode out the aftershocks of their coupling and came back down to Earth. John's head was pressed into the crook of his shoulder, and he kissed the skin just under the collar of the t-shirt before he reluctantly pulled away. Sherlock caught him with a hand in the centre of his back. “Wait.”

John paused and looked at him. His eyes were still closed, his face soft, his hair in disarray, his lips swollen and slightly parted as his laboured breathing returned to normal. He looked utterly debauched, and John smiled to himself, knowing he was the reason. “You're gorgeous,” he whispered.

Sherlock's eyes opened at that, brilliantly green in the morning sunlight that came through the sitting room windows. “I'm not.”

“Shut up, you certainly are.”

Sherlock leaned up and kissed him briefly. “I don't believe you.”

“Sherlock.” John sighed, and leaned forward so that Sherlock had to recline back onto the table until his head met a stack of papers. “Would I lie to you?”

“Yes.”

“Wrong.”

Sherlock blinked at that, and John took the opportunity to kiss him again. He pulled away reluctantly, and wrapped his robe around him to ward off the chill. Sherlock sat up and did the same, then ran his fingers through his hair as he looked around the room. “We've made a bit of a mess of the table.”

John picked up the plates and headed into the kitchen. “Since when do you care?”

“I had some case notes that weren't organized yet.”

“Forgive me for not caring too much.”

Sherlock hopped down off the table and brought the mugs to the sink. “You distracted me just now. Don't you want your present?”

John leaned against the counter and put his hands on Sherlock's hips, pulling him close. “Honestly? I'm much more excited to have an entire uninterrupted day with you.”

Sherlock smirked. “How's your refractory period these days?”

“Don't know, haven't had opportunity to test it in a while. You should experiment.”

“I intend to.” He gave John a quick kiss. “But I want to give you this first.”

John stayed where he was, and watched Sherlock go back into the sitting room and start excavating behind his chair. “Nothing can top last year, just so you know.”

“I have no intention of topping last year. I fully expect a wedding ring will be the best thing I ever give you.”

John glanced down at the band on his finger and smiled. “Good, just so we're clear.”

“Ah, here.” He got back to his feet with a small, nondescript cardboard box, and returned to stand in front of John. “Go ahead, open it.”

John lifted the top off the box, then removed the smaller brown leather case, and stared at the contents.

Sherlock fidgeted. “You don't like them.”

“No, I'm just … surprised, is all.” John lifted the glasses from their case. He opened the arms and turned them around, inspecting the tortoiseshell frames. Finally he put them on his face, and raised his eyebrows in understanding. “Reading glasses.”

“I noticed you've been having trouble with small print. You do that thing where you lean back and squint. And you increased the font size on your blog.”

John took the glasses off and looked up at him. “I have been having more headaches than usual.”

Sherlock nodded. “Unconscious compensation and eye strain. These are low-power but they should bring things back into focus for you.”

John sighed and looked at them. “This makes me middle-aged, doesn't it?”

“I'm afraid so.” He lifted John's hands gently and slipped them back on. “They do look very nice, though. They suit you.”

“I probably look like someone's father.”

“You _are_ someone's father. Go have a look in the mirror. You don't look old, you look … smart.”

John rolled his eyes and started for the bedroom. “Yes, thanks. Tactful as ever.”

“You know what I mean. Distinguished. And intelligent.”

“You almost had it there.” He stopped in front of their full length mirror. “Oh. You weren't kidding.”

Sherlock stood behind him and rested his chin on John's shoulder, looking at their reflection through his eyelashes. “As I said,” he murmured in a deep voice that made John's skin tingle. “Very becoming.”


	4. Poco Ritardando

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is late! I meant to post on Friday before I went away for the weekend, but I forgot.

Alexa had to admit, the four-year-old ballerinas were one of the cutest things she'd ever seen, with their little pink leotards and fluffy tutus. They all focussed earnestly on Marie and their other teacher, copying the motions as well as their little limbs could, until one or another would lose concentration and play with her tutu or look out at the audience. Then she would stumble just a little, and hurriedly return to the dance.

It lasted only five minutes, but they got a standing ovation at the end. Alexa hung back while the parents went to their children and chatted with the instructors, and finally Marie came over to her, smiling shyly. “So, yeah. That's what I've been so busy with recently. I'm learning how to teach the little ones.”

“It's fantastic,” Alexa said. “They're just the cutest, aren't they?”

“They really are. And bonus, they've been making great progress. They're all on track to progress to the next grade and take their first examinations.”

Alexa raised her eyebrows. “Examinations, really? For four-year-olds?”

Marie shrugged. “Sure. Start them early. I hardly even remember my first examination.”

“Well, yeah, but you're … you're really good. You want to go pro at this.”

“Well, maybe.” She smiled awkwardly. “It's really hard to be a professional dancer. Like, _really_ hard. I'm not totally sure I want it enough.”

Alexa blinked at her. “But you … it's what you've always wanted.”

“Well sure, every little girl wants to be a ballerina, doesn't she? But the reality is way less glamorous. You've seen my feet. I guess I'm just … I'm starting to be realistic. I love dancing, but I don't think I love it more than everything else.”

“And you have to love it more than anything to be a professional.”

“Yeah. It's kind of fun, actually, working with the little ones. It reminds me what it's like to just feel that joy. But it's fun to think that maybe some of these kids will be good enough to go all the way. Our aim is to give them the best start possible, whatever they choose later.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“Anyway, I've got a bit of a break before my next commitment. Do you want to watch some of the other demonstrations, or … I don't know, go somewhere?”

“Let's stick around here, it's too cold to go out. And I like being around all these dancers; it makes me feel cultured. What's your next thing?”

Marie pulled on a sweatshirt and led her out into the hall as a new set of parents started to trickle into the studio with slightly older girls. “I'm filling in with Grade Three, their numbers are a little small this year.”

Alexa grinned. “Starring role?”

“Hah, no, just corps. They all get their chances to shine.”

“Are they doing, the one on the toes. Pointe. Are they doing that yet?”

“Oh no, they're not ready for pointe yet. Your technique has to be really solid and you spend a long time building up the strength for it.”

“When do you get to start?”

“It depends. I was eleven, which is younger than most. Most of the grade three girls will start next year.”

“What about the boys?”

She giggled. “Boys don't generally do pointe, though there's one in my class who's been taking beginner pointe lessons on the side. Madame insisted, she says his core needs work or something. He hates it.”

“I can imagine. Emasculating?”

“Definitely. Not that being a ballet dancer is seen as particularly manly outside the studio anyway.”

“So each grade has a showcase today, yeah?”

“Yeah. And there are some student choreography showcases sprinkled in too. Most of my friends are in one or another of those. They should be pretty great, actually. The first is right after the threes that I'm helping with.”

“Are you in one?”

Marie grinned. “I'm in the _best_ one. I think it's the best, anyway. Two of our top student choreographers did one for a military band suite.”

“Military band?”

“Yeah, a wind and percussion ensemble, it's fantastic. They say it's something school bands play all the time, Holst's first suite in E-flat.”

“I don't know that one.”

“Well you're a violinist, aren't you? No strings in it. But I bet Doc-- I bet your Papa played it back when he was in school. He used to play the clarinet, right?”

“He did. I've actually been catching him looking at clarinets when he takes me to the music store. I think he wants to pick it up again.”

“I bet he feels left out, you and your dad always playing together.”

“I'm sure he does, though he'd never say so.” They sat down on a bench outside one of the classrooms, and Alexa reclined against the wall. “I've thought about maybe getting him one, as a surprise gift.”

“A clarinet?”

“Yeah. Haven't talked to Dad yet, though, so it's probably not in the cards for Christmas.”

“There will be other occasions. And I think that's a lovely idea. There's a fantastic clarinet soli in the third movement of the piece I'm dancing to; if he's anything like my mum he'd love to hear it.”

“Your mum?”

“She played the trombone in school and she's always going on about the things she hears. Beethoven's fifth is the worst; she gets so excited about the beginning of the fourth movement. Apparently it's the first time trombones were used in a symphony, and they come in fortissimo after being tacet for half an hour, so your tuning's shot. She tells me every time we hear it, even though she's told me every time for literally my entire life. I _definitely_ know the significance of the trombones.”

Alexa laughed. “I can totally see her doing that. And I think I could also see Papa getting nostalgic for clarinet music if he's played it before. He always perks up when Dad gets a wild hair and puts on _Rhapsody in Blue_ instead of Bach.”

“That lick at the beginning is something else. He's played it?”

“I don't think so, but it's hard not to get excited about that solo. And because it's my dad, it's absolutely the best recording of Gershwin you've ever heard.”

“Bernstein?”

“Probably. I'd have to check. But what's _really_ funny is Dad's recently been trying to do that clarinet solo on his violin.”

Marie groaned and covered her face. “Oh, no! Is it as awful as it sounds?”

“Just about. He's got the technique fine, but it just sounds _wrong_. And Papa hates it, but he's too nice to say anything, like he thinks it would hurt Dad's feelings.”

“Your dad doesn't notice he hates it?”

“I'm sure he does, but he's just so determined to do it. It's almost cute.”

“Almost?”

“I really can't forgive what he's doing to the Gershwin.”

Marie laughed. “That's fair. Anyway, you should take a video of my choreography showcase to show to your Papa.”

Alexa smirked at her. “You just want to show off your dancing to them.”

“Well I knew they would never make it here in person, so you can't blame me for trying. They're more like dads to me than my real dad is.”

“How is your dad?”

“Ugh.” She slid down on the bench. “I went to see him for a weekend in September and it was _unbearable_. His twenty-three year old girlfriend moved into the old house with him, and she's up the duff so everything was about the new baby. _Oh, Marie, aren't you excited to have a half brother or sister?_ Um, no, actually. I don't want anything to do with you.” She pulled a pair of barrettes out of her hair and clipped them to the side of Alexa's head. “The baby's due on Christmas.”

“What a cliché.”

“I know, right? At least he's been too swamped to send his usual smug holiday letter. The sooner I can cut that man out of my life forever, the better.” She removed the pins from her bun and shook it out. “I'm going to change my name.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because I hate being an Ackerman and having a reminder of _him_ every time I hear my own name. I want to take Mum's name.”

“Marie Sullivan.”

“Doesn't that just sound better?”

“It does, yeah. I bet your mum would like it.”

“I'm sure she would. How hard is it to change your name?”

“I wouldn't know.”

“Alexa Bradbury Holmes, I know for a fact that you have changed your name.”

“That's different, though. Dad did all the paperwork, I just had to sign it. We did it at the same time as all the guardianship stuff.”

“Oh. I guess that changes things.” She rummaged in her bag for a moment and pulled out her phone. “I'm going to do a mental run-through on my choreography, okay?”

“Sure.” Alexa pulled out her own phone as Marie lay down the length of the bench and put her earbuds in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, disclaimer that I really don't know much about ballet. If I've got anything wrong, please correct me!


	5. Con Moto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the rating.

Sherlock collapsed, gasping, against John's chest. “Hey, careful, glasses.”

“Oh, _god_ , I know!” Sherlock moaned, nibbling his clavicle. “Can you always wear them in bed?”

“If I'd known you had a fetish I'd have got them ages ago.”

“It's not a fetish, it's a kink.”

“Whatever it is, I'll be saving them for special occasions if you get off this fast every time.”

“Sorry,” Sherlock grumbled. “You're just too _sexy_.”

“Also, your refractory period seems to have shrunk to zero.” John pushed him off his chest so he could breathe more easily. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“Not zero; that whole … it took at least forty-five minutes.” Sherlock sprawled on his back. “Getting you ready wasn't as easy as it normally is.”

John's cock twitched, as though it were indignant. He rolled to loom over Sherlock and looked at him over the top of the glasses, challenging. “You're complaining about having sex with me?”

Sherlock glanced down and smirked. “Of course not.” He spread his legs invitingly. “And you're certainly ready _now_.”

John kissed him with a chuckle, but then hesitated. “You're not too sensitive?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “What do I have to do, beg?”

“Can't hurt.”

He let out an exasperated groan that sounded vaguely like John's name, and wrapped a leg around the back of his thighs. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“ _Fuck me_ ,” he gasped as the head of John's cock brushed against his entrance, still relaxed and wet. He reached between them awkwardly and stroked it, trying to pull it towards him. “Oh, god, I need you.”

John slipped inside easily, but pulled back right away. “You've just had me.”

“Not enough, not enough.” He grabbed John's arse with both hands and tried to pull him in. “Never enough.”

“How can you be so desperate when you just came two minutes ago?” John bent down and kissed him again, swallowing Sherlock's moan of delight as he pushed firmly in. Sherlock held on with all his limbs, rocking and gasping in rhythm with John's movements.

After a minute Sherlock pushed at his shoulders. “John.”

He paused, startled. “What?”

Sherlock rolled his hips, and John squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of pleasure. “I want to see your face.”

He started moving again. “Of course … of course you do.”

“God, yes.”

“You and your … your glasses … thing.”

“ _Harder_.”

“Jesus ...”

“ _John_.”

“Oh fuck, Sher--” John's orgasm tore through him from his toes to the roots of his hair. He kept thrusting until the trembling of his limbs overwhelmed him, and he let Sherlock roll him onto his side, then slip the glasses off his face. He looked up as his husband set them carefully on the bedside table.

“Don't want to damage them,” Sherlock murmured.

“No,” John agreed, still catching his breath. “If we did, how would we ever have ridiculous midday sex?”

Sherlock chuckled and laid back down facing him. “It's not so late as midday yet.”

“You expect me to know what time it is after all that?”

“No, I expect you to fall asleep, actually.” Sherlock scooted close enough so that their foreheads touched. “Because that's what I plan to do.”

“You, sleeping during the day?”

“You keep telling me I'm not as young as I used to be.” Sherlock yawned hugely, and John couldn't resist doing the same. “See? I think a little snuggle is just what we need.”

“Hm,” John said, tucking his head under Sherlock's chin. “Just don't let us sleep away the entire day.”


	6. Andantino

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my Consulting Writers on Ravelry for helping when I was stuck, and for encouraging me to use “Other Mum” in this. Also, a shout-out to my own “Other Mommy” who was the inspiration (and will never read this, but whatever. Betty, you rock.)

Alexa had to admit, she was impressed by the Grade Three performance. It was clear that Marie was the best dancer in the group – and the tallest, if only by a couple inches – but they all moved gracefully and put on a good show.

The door opened when the dance finished, and Alexa turned to see Marie's mother awkwardly come in during the bows and applause. “Hey, Other Mum.”

“Oh, Alexa! Hello. I've just missed it, haven't I?”

“I'm afraid so. But this wasn't her class, she was just helping make up the numbers.”

She shrugged out of her coat and heaved a sigh of relief. “That's good. I lost the schedule she gave me and I was afraid I'd miss one of her real performances.”

“It _was_ a real performance,” Marie said as she stepped up to them, and accepted a hug and a kiss from her mother with a smile. “Glad you could make it, Mum.”

“I'm so sorry I'm late, sweetie.”

“It's fine. This one wasn't a big deal.”

“I wanted to be sure I made it for your choreography one. When is it?”

“Right after lunch. We've got a little bit.”

“Good, it's important that you eat. I brought some sandwiches, are you girls hungry?”

“Am I!” Marie said. “Are you kidding, I'm _famished_. Let me just change real quick and we'll go eat.”

“Should we meet you somewhere, darling?”

Marie paused, and looked around the room. “Actually, I think we could stay in here. This is where my choreo thing is happening, and it looks like there's nothing here before that. I want to put on a few more clothes though, I'll be right back.”

She disappeared, and Alexa gestured to a corner of the room. “You okay with sitting on the floor, Other Mum?”

“Fine by me.” They arranged themselves next to the mirror as the last of the grade three audience cleared out, and she toed her shoes off. “Sorry about my feet, but these things are bloody killing me.”

“So why do you wear them?”

She flexed her toes. “Had a meeting with a high-powered client this morning. Have to look the part.”

“And … what, four-inch heels are part of that?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” She sighed. “Men's clothing is so much more comfortable. I'm dressed as nicely as your dad usually is, but I could never chase people down in this.”

“Lucky thing you don't have to.”

“How are they doing, anyway? They haven't been in the news recently. I follow the blog, but there's always so much more, isn't there?”

“Only about half of what they do winds up on the blog, for various reasons. They're doing well, though. Had a big homicide thing last week. Dad was over the moon.”

Marie reappeared at that point, skipping barefoot across the room. “What did you bring, Mum?”

“I got you two some sandwiches from Tesco.” She rummaged in her large canvas bag and pulled them out. “There's one turkey and cheese, and … another turkey and cheese. Sorry, I thought I got two different ones.”

“What about for you?”

She reached into the bag again, and brandished a packaged salad. “And a big bag of crisps, if you need something crunchy.”

“Excellent!” Marie grabbed it and tore it open.

“So how have things been with you?” Alexa asked.

“Oh, you know.” Marie's mum popped the lid off her salad. “Basically the same old. Work eats up my life, and even if I had time to date, it's impossible to find someone I like. How about you?”

“Same as ever, I guess. School, music, school, looking after my dads.”

“They need looking after?”

“Mostly I help out with cooking, or they'd live on beans and tea. But business has been good, and they're as stupidly happy together as they've always been.”

“That's so sweet. And what about you, is there any romance in your life?”

Marie rolled her eyes as she unwrapped her sandwich. “Come on, Mum, not everything is about _boys_.”

“I have to live vicariously through _someone_ , dear. Do you have a boyfriend, Alexa?”

She grinned. “No, and a good thing too, because if I did my dads would be absolutely unbearable.”

“I suppose you don't meet many, do you? With the girls' school.”

“I know a few from the orchestra I'm in. But all the boys our age are … well.”

“Fourteen,” Marie said.

“Exactly.”

Marie's mum laughed. “So it's older boys for you, then?”

Marie took a big bite of her sandwich, so it was on Alexa to answer. “I guess. But I haven't met any.”

“Crushes? Celebrities you like?”

Alexa shrugged, and Marie avoided both their gazes. “I don't know. All the musicians I like are way too old for me, anyway. Or girls. Or dead.”

“There really aren't any famous people you fancy? What about that actor bloke … you know the one, with the face?"

Alexa laughed. “You're going to have to be a lot more specific, Other Mum.”

“He was in a whole load of movies a few years back. Like _Star Trek_ , he was the bad guy. And he was in _Parade's End_.”

Marie smirked. “You and your _Parade's End_.”

“It's romantic.”

“It's confusing and depressing!”

“Oh!” Alexa said. “I know the one you mean. He looks just like my dad.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my god, he does, doesn't he?”

“Well, the hair is different. But there's a strong resemblance. Sometimes I catch Papa doing a double-take when he's on telly. So I guess the answer to your question is, not in a million years.”

Marie cut in when her mother got a far-away look in her eyes. “Don't even think about it, Mum. Sherlock is married _and gay_.”

“A girl can dream.”

“This is getting weird,” Alexa interjected.

“Fine, fine.” She stabbed at the last few bits of lettuce, then set the container aside. “Give me those crisps, sweetie. If we're all unlucky in love, at least we have greasy food and each other.”

Marie handed over the bag and lifted her water bottle with a smile. “Cheers to that.”


	7. Adagio

By the time Sherlock got done in the shower, John's stomach was growling, and by the time he'd finished drying his hair, John was contemplating braving the refrigerator in search of something edible.

“You took long enough.”

Sherlock gave him a withering glance from the bedroom as he pulled on socks and shoes. “I don't go out looking a mess. I do have standards.”

“It's only Speedy's. Nobody cares.”

“I care.” He stood up and shrugged into a sleek black jacket. “You care.”

“I really don't.”

“Oh, please.” His piercing gaze swept over his husband. “Your attraction is evident by your stance, and it increased when I put the jacket on, judging by the dilation of your pupils. Besides which, you only wear that pullover when we go out. You seem to think that it's nice, and perhaps it was once, but now it's stretched out in a way that isn't quite unflattering, but definitely looks homey.”

John licked his lips self-consiously, and glanced down at his oatmeal cabled jumper. “Be that as it may, I'm still starving.”

Sherlock smirked, then brushed past him. “Let's go, then.” He pushed open the door to the stairs. “After you.”

The early afternoon air was bitterly cold, but it was only a few steps from their front door into the fragrant warmth of the cafe. It was fairly busy, but they found a table at the back. Sherlock slouched against the wall and observed the crowd while John read the specials board. “They have lasagne today.”

“You don't need the cholesterol.”

John bristled. “Excuse me?”

Sherlock blinked at him. “Your last lipid panel showed your triglycerides elevated. Don't look so surprised; you've been upset about it for a month, of course I noticed.”

“How the hell do you know it's my triglycerides?”

“Obvious.” He turned back to the room. “Though I'd guess your LDL/HDL ratio is a bit off, too. At any rate, you'll be happier in the long run if you steer clear of the cheese and white carbs.”

“I didn't realize you cared about things like that.”

Sherlock's verdigris eyes landed on John again, and stayed steady. “John, you wound me. Of course I care about your health. Can't have you falling victim to heart disease.”

John looked at him for a long moment, then leaned forward on the table. “You could just _tell me_ you love me, you know.”

Sherlock looked at him in surprise, and then leaned forward himself as a small smile spread across his face. “I love you,” he said softly. “Please don't get atherosclerosis.”

John smiled back. “I'll do my best.” He glanced back at the board with a small sigh. “Soup and salad, then?”

“All right.”

John ordered for both of them, and when it became clear that Sherlock wasn't going to share his deductions about the other customers, he retrieved an abandoned newspaper from an adjacent table and put on his new reading glasses.

After a minute he became aware of Sherlock staring at him. “Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“The crossword.”

“No, I mean ...”

He trailed off, and John looked at him over the top of his glasses. Sherlock had turned distinctly pink, and his gaze was somewhat unfocussed. “Yes?”

“You're, uh. You're wearing them.”

“Yes, for reading. As intended.”

Sherlock licked his lips and glanced around uncomfortably, then leaned forward. “You can't. Not in public.”

“Why not?”

He lowered his voice even more. “Because it's _distracting_.”

John crossed his arms. “Distracting you from your vital work dissecting the personal lives of Speedys' other customers?”

He blushed even harder. “You know what I _mean_.”

“You expect me to only wear them at home, because it turns you on?”

Sherlock bit his lip. “Yes?”

“I'm sure you've deduced that's never going to happen.”

“But why not? You don't read that much when we're out.”

“Because I have them so I can use them, and I don't want to keep straining my eyes just because you won't exercise a little self-control.”

Sherlock pouted, and his no-doubt scathing comeback was pre-empted by the arrival of their soup. John turned the conversation to other topics while they ate, though Sherlock kept looking at the lump under John's jumper that was his glasses in his shirt pocket, and brushing his knees against John's under the table.

They left quickly when they were finished, and only made it halfway up to the flat before they gave up and snogged on the stairs. John was about to start undressing Sherlock when the sound of Mrs Hudson's key in the front door made them both jump, and they scampered the rest of the way, giggling madly.


	8. Espressivo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I missed last week's update! This chapter proved rather difficult. I intend to stay on schedule from here on, and finish on the 21st. This means that there will be a double update in December!
> 
> The music for Marie's choreography showcase can be heard [here](http://youtu.be/fLbP6qpI1YI).

Marie rolled up onto her toes, and her face fell. “Oh crap.” She sat down again and pulled at the ribbons on her pointe shoes. “These ones are done, the shank's too weak. Mum, is my other pair in my bag?”

“I think so.” She dove into it, while Alexa pinned a stray lock of hair flat onto Marie's head.

Moments later another pair of shoes appeared, and Marie took them gratefully. “Oh good. See? Having two is important.”

Her mum picked up the discarded shoes. “Didn't I just buy you a new pair?”

“Yeah, those are my backup. I'm still breaking them in.”

“How long does a pair of shoes last?” Alexa asked, reaching for the can of hair spray.

“I think those are two months old? Not wearing them every day, of course.”

“Oh, well, of course.”

Marie stood again, and rose onto her toes. “These will do. Is my hair ready?”

“Unless you want it rock hard, I'd say yes.”

“Should be fine, I don't frizz much.” She smoothed it back, shook out her arms, and took a deep breath. “Okay. I'm ready. Let's go.”

 

The piece was breathtaking. Marie was one of three girls who performed along with one boy, who looked to be a few years older and was dressed in a costume with a large stylised Union Jack print. The first movement featured a young brunette as the boy's partner. She wore a blue leotard and skirt, and her dance was alternately perky and floating, while Marie and the other girl danced to the heavier counterpoint melodies.

In the second movement, Marie took the spotlight in her red costume with a very quick, precise dance in which the boy kept making for her, but she was always just out of reach. They boy faded into the background when the melody slowed and swelled and the three girls danced together until the fast tune returned with the low brasses.

The third movement, the march, opened with the three girls moving in changing formations. When the clarinet section came in with their melody in the trio section, Alexa and the brunette backed off, leaving the boy to dance with the third girl, who was tall, dark-skinned, and dressed all in gauzy white. All four danced together during the dogfight section, personifying the action and discord in the music. It resolved through the trio recapitulation with the pair in the centre of the stage, and the other two girls accompanying from the sides in unison.

The coda finished with a flourish, and the audience broke into raucous applause. All four dancers looked pleased and relieved, and congratulated the choreographers when they stood up.

Alexa followed when Marie beckoned to her, and trailed after the sweating, chattering dancers into the locker room. Finally Marie hugged the others, and then went to her locker on the other side of the room. She sat heavily on the bench and tugged at her bun, but let her arms fall when Alexa started unpinning her hair for her. “That was … that was really something,” Alexa finally said.

Marie twisted to smile at her. “Thanks. We've been working really hard. Did you get a video to show your dads?”

“Oh. Yeah, your mum did. It wasn't just the dancing, though.”

“Oh?”

“Your performance. It was … it was really moving. I had no idea you could act like that. The way you were disinterested in the boy in the middle section when he was dancing with you, and then at the end when you and the other girl were jealous of the couple. It looked like she was jealous of her, but you were jealous of _him_. Like you wanted to be the one she watched like that.”

Marie's face grew pinker and pinker, and she pulled her hair in front of her face. “I … um. Thanks.”

Something clicked in Alexa's mind, and she sat carefully. “Should I be complimenting your acting chops here?”

Marie shook her hair out and looked at the ceiling. “Honestly?” She bit her lip. “It … it wasn't that much of a stretch.”

“You're gay.”

“Yeah.”

“And the other girl is your ...?”

Marie turned to face her. “Oh, no. No, I hardly know her. Just. She's really hot.”

Alexa laughed. “I'll give you that. So you don't have anyone?”

“I don't have to have a girlfriend to be a lesbian.”

“Oh, I didn't mean it like that. I just wondered.”

Marie half-smiled. “Sorry. I've been afraid that people would be weird about it.”

“Am I being weird?”

“No, you're not. You're being great. I was a little afraid you'd think I was going to … like, try to do stuff to you or something.”

“You would never do anything like that! And I think if you were attracted to me, I'd know. Or things would be weird between us, which they're not.”

Marie giggled nervously. “I, um. I did think about you a little, when I first realized I was gay. It was really weird, though.”

Alexa smiled with relief. “Me too. I mean, I did wonder if you were gay. Being around Dad, you get good at picking up on the little hints. Anyway it got me thinking about, what if we became _us_? But it just seems silly.”

“I know! You could never be my girlfriend. It would be too weird.”

“It's because I'm already your sister.”

Marie grinned. “That's a great way of putting it. I definitely love you, but not _like that_. Not like your dads love each other. It's different.”

“It's not romantic. _Philia_ , not _eros_.”

Marie raised her eyebrows. “Latin?”

“Greek.”

“Oh, well, naturally.”

Alexa grinned. “Just because _you_ don't study any dead languages ...”

“But really, thank you. For being cool with this.”

“You know I'd do anything for you.”

Marie gave her a dazzling smile, then leaned down to untie her shoes. “I know. But there's one more thing I want to ask you.”

“What?”

“Don't tell Mum?”

“She doesn't know?”

“I haven't told her.”

“I'm sure she'll be cool with it.”

“I am too, but I'm just … I'm not ready to tell her yet.”

“That's OK. I won't say anything. I won't tell anybody unless you ask me to.”

“Thanks.” Marie smiled at her, and pulled her shoes off. “Well, it's good to have that out in the open. My class is performing in an hour, so I figure I'll change now and then just watch the others.”

“Aren't you tired?”

“Yeah, but what are you going to do?” she sighed. “This one will be less intense, anyway.”


	9. Rallentando

“Ah! Shit!” John covered his head with his arms as several boxes fell out of the cupboard and then clattered to the floor at his feet, spilling their contents. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that none of them contained anything breakable, and as luck would have it, all the fairy lights he'd been searching for had jumped down. He picked up the rest of the boxes and shoved them back into the cupboard, though not back onto the highest shelf, since he knew he'd need them to decorate the tree when they eventually got it.

When he got back downstairs, Sherlock had moved from his chair to the couch, where he had a ratty paperback balanced on his chest with one hand while the other was draped over the edge above his head.

John sighed. “You couldn't have helped me?”

“Sorry?”

“With the cupboard upstairs. I can't reach well.”

“Why were you up there?”

John held up the fairy lights. “I told you before. Christmas decorations.”

“Why are you decorating? It's not Christmas yet.”

“It's the twenty-first.”

Sherlock finally looked up. “Is it?”

“Yes. Four days 'til Christmas.” John rolled his eyes. “I don't suppose you want to help me put these up.”

He turned back to his book. “Not really, no.”

“Didn't think so. Will you come buy a tree with us tomorrow?”

“Why do we need one? You know Alexa doesn't really care about Christmas.”

“Yes, well, I do. And it's important to me that we have a Christmas tree.”

Sherlock finally put the book down and looked at his husband. “You never pushed to have one before. I don't understand what's different.”

John frowned. “I don't know that I can explain it. I just … I feel like we're a proper family now, and proper families have proper trees at Christmas.”

“Can't we borrow that little artificial one from Mrs. Hudson again?”

“First, she's using it. And second, no, it's not the same.” He sighed. “Am I being unreasonable here?”

“I just don't _understand_.” Sherlock sat up, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “We're the same as we ever were. _I_ don't care about Christmas. You barely do. Alexa was brought up Jewish, and she has everything in hand to celebrate Hanukkah. I just think it's idiotic to make a big fuss over Christmas when none of us _care_.”

“But I _do_ care!” John said, turning towards the fireplace and taking a few steps before turning back. “That's the thing. It's important to me.”

“But _why_? You never cared before!”

“I don't know, okay? I don't know why I suddenly care about Christmas, but I do. This is important to me and I'd like you to support me for once in your _bloody_ life!”

Sherlock's brow furrowed. “I support you.”

John sat heavily in his armchair. “When's the last time you let me make a decision? And _not_ about something you didn't care about.”

Sherlock averted his gaze in silence.

John heaved a sigh and closed his eyes with resignation. “Yeah. I don't know either.”

After a prolonged pause, there was a soft sound of rustling clothing and footsteps. John opened his eyes to see Sherlock kneeling on the floor in front of him. He laid his head on John's knee. “I'm sorry.”

John ran his fingers gently through Sherlock's curls, and gave him a sad half-smile. “Thank you.”

“Do you forgive me?”

“Always.” He leaned over and dropped a kiss on Sherlock's forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too. And I'll come and get a Christmas tree if that's what you want.” He sat back on his heels. “Though I don't know where we'll put it.”

“I'm sure you and Alexa will make something work. You always do.” He stood, and helped Sherlock back to his feet.

“She's a genius when it comes to arranging furniture.”

“She must take after her mother that way.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “Just for that, I'm not helping with the lights.”

John stretched up to kiss him. “That's fair.”

Sherlock slunk back over to the couch while John turned his attention to the tangle of fairy lights he'd brought down, and he was engrossed enough in straightening and testing the lights that the didn't notice when Sherlock abandoned the sofa to sit at the desk. A familiar snippet of music played for about three seconds, before it cut off with a loud noise of disgust from Sherlock.

John twisted around. “What are you doing there?”

Sherlock was hunched in close to the laptop screen. “Curating.”

“Curating what?”

“Spotify playlist.”

“Yes, okay, what sort of playlist?”

Sherlock leaned back with a sigh. “I'm trying to find holiday music that isn't abhorrent. It's proving difficult.”

“Have you got Diana Krall?”

“Who?”

“For god's sake, Sherlock, you're in fucking Spotify. Look her up. K-r-a-l-l.”

There was silence for a further few minutes, and then soft jingling came over the good speakers. Sherlock listened closely when the singer came in, and finally gave a little nod. “Acceptable.”

John took a string of lights, and carefully climbed on Sherlock's armchair to reach above the window. “What else have you got?”

“King's Singers.”

“Oh, they're quite good. Who else?”

“Nobody else. That's it. I'm still looking though. It has all these suggestions but most of them are unbearable.”


	10. Largo

Marie's performance with her class was technically very impressive, though emotionally not at the same calibre as her previous piece. All of the dancers looked relieved as they took their bows, and as they scurried off to the locker room, the teachers thanked all the parents for coming to the open house and supporting their students. By the time Alexa got into the locker room, Marie was already putting on her shoes. “You were quick.”

“I want to shower at home,” she explained, standing up and lifting her bag. “Ready to go?”

They met up with Marie's mum and walked the half mile through the deepening winter twilight. The air in the flat was deliciously warm in comparison to the outdoor chill, and all three of them kicked off their shoes. Marie took her ballet bag straight to her bedroom, but Alexa stopped in the sitting room. “Holy Christmas tree!”

“Thank you!” said Marie's mum. “We got it last weekend but haven't had a chance to decorate yet.”

“I said you could start without me,” Marie called.

“I would never!” her mother responded. “It's a tradition; we have to do it together.”

Alexa flopped on the couch and gazed at the tree. “I wonder if we'll have one this year.”

Marie's mum sat next to her as the shower started. “Don't you usually?”

“There isn't exactly a _usually_ with Dad and Papa. And me and my mum never did, since we mostly just did Hanukkah. Most years we got a wreath but you don't really decorate that or anything. Anyway, last year we had a little fake tree but I don't know if we're going to do it again.”

“Well, if you don't, you're welcome here any time.”

“Thanks.” Alexa studied the tree. “Is it always so … fluffy?”

“This one's a bit bigger than usual. I forgot to bring a tape measure and we got a little over-excited.” She sighed. “At least it's just the two of us this year, so we don't have to worry too much about the flat being crowded or the furniture being arranged strangely.”

“I don't think it's too strange. I sort of like it actually. Especially the back-to-back chairs over there.” She gestured.

“Marie likes to sit in the one that's up against the wall. I've no idea why.”

“It's fun to fold up in little spaces. She's like a cat. If I fits, I sits.”

“If _what_?”

“It's an internet thing. You know how cats are always trying to sit in baskets and boxes that are too small?”

“I can't say that I do, unfortunately.”

“Oh. Well, they do. They love cardboard boxes. Maybe you and Papa can hang out sometime, he's _nuts_ about cat videos online and it drives Dad up the wall.”

“What do you think of them?”

“I like them, but not as much as Papa. You should see him, there's this one with a bunch of boxes and every single time he laughs like it's the most hilarious thing the world will ever produce.” 

“Is it really that funny?”

“It's funny, but what's better is Papa's reaction.”

“I do love it when someone gets tickled just right. Like Marie and puns! I heard a new one earlier today, actually.”

“Have you told her?”

“No, not yet.”

“Okay, good, I want to be there when she hears it.”

“Maybe at supper. Do you want to join us? I was thinking we'd go out.”

“That would be great, thanks. And actually Dad sort of … wants me to stay out as long as possible.”

Marie's mum raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“They're having a romantic day alone together or something.”

“Why don't you invite them to come with us? I'd love to get to know them a bit better, especially since Marie's been spending so much time at your place.”

“I can but I'm not sure they'll come. Dad was really looking forward to having Papa to himself.”

She chuckled. “Alexa, I'm sure you're too young to understand this for yourself, so let me tell you. No matter how much you love someone, after a whole day together you're ready to see some different faces.”

“Well, but ...” Alexa shifted uncomfortably. “They were going to … I think their plan was to shag on every surface in the flat while I'm not around.”

Marie's mum laughed out loud at that. “Oh, darling, you really are sweet, but nobody can go all day. Especially not men their age.”

Alexa wrinkled her nose. “I'm sure they're trying, though.”

“Why don't you send a text, just in case. We can meet them somewhere in an hour.”

“Okay.” She pulled out her phone, and tapped out a quick text. “Do you have someplace in mind?”

“Not especially. Do you have any recommendations?”

“There's this one place that Dad _really_ loves, right by Baker Street. He knows the owner.”

“Ooh, exciting!”

“It can be. I bet we could get him to tell you the story, too, if Papa's in a good mood.”

“Why if he's in a good mood?”

“He's heard it a thousand times, and he always embellishes it. Sometimes it's fun, but sometimes I can tell he's trying to shut it down because he's sick of hearing it.”

“Well, let's hope he's in a good mood tonight. I imagine he might be.”

Alexa glanced at her phone, which showed the message she had sent was delivered but unread. “If Dad's not checking his phone, Papa's either very happy or very upset.”

“Well, let's hope it's the former.” She got up. “Marie's going to be a little bit yet, and I have a few chores to do. I hope you don't mind if I leave you.”

“No worries. I brought my knitting.”

“Of course you did.” She smiled. “You know where everything is if you want a snack or something before we go.”

“Ta. I'm sure I'll be fine.”


	11. Cantabile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://8tracks.com/ladymac111/alexa-s-romantic-trax>Playlist%20for%20this%20chapter</a>)

John was absorbed in his book and didn't notice that the snippets of Christmas music had stopped, until Sherlock stepped in front of him. “John.”

He looked up. “Yes?”

Sherlock seemed almost bashful. “Dance with me?”

John grinned and took off his glasses, then set them on top of the book on a side table. “I'd love to.”

Sherlock's face broke into a broad grin, and he reached over and touched a button on the computer as John got to his feet.

The music started. Sherlock put his right arm around John's back, and cradled his free hand against his chest.

“What's this?”

“A playlist our daughter made. She listens to it when she's feeling soppy, and I add to it sometimes.”

John caressed Sherlock's shoulder through the fabric of his shirt. “Soppy?”

“Yes, you know, romantic or whatever.”

“I know what soppy means. What I meant was, _Alexa_ gets soppy?”

“Of course she does, she's fourteen years old.”

_Remember those walls we built?  
Baby, they're tumbling down._

Sherlock's hand on John's back held on a little tighter, and John had to work to speak. “I think I know this song.”

_And they didn't even put up a fight.  
They didn't even make a sound._

“You might. It's Beyoncé.”

“ _You_ know Beyoncé?”

“I pay attention to what she listens to. Have to check it's not inappropriate.”

John smiled at his husband as his chest swelled with love. “Fatherhood becomes you.”

_Everywhere I'm looking now,_   
_I'm surrounded by your embrace._   
_Baby, I can see your halo._   
_You know you're my saving grace._

Sherlock bent down and pressed his cheek against John's, and they swayed together as the song continued. It wasn't proper dancing, but John felt like they were floating together in their sitting room. The sensation was heightened by the dim light; by now, the sun had gone fully down and the room was lit only by the newly-hung fairy lights and the fire in the hearth.

Their motion stilled when the song came to its end, and there was a brief pause before the next started with a very familiar flute melody. John giggled. “Oh god, really?”

_Every night in my dreams_   
_I see you, I feel you,_   
_That is how I know you go on._

“Yes.” Sherlock's first kiss caught John by surprise, but the second did not and he met it eagerly. They kissed with a ferocity that had been absent earlier in the day. If John had been pressed to put his finger on a reason, it might have been that the music and lighting enhanced the mood. It also might have been defiance of the corny song – which he found, if you mostly ignored it, was actually sort of romantic.

In any case, the romance of the previous moment transformed easily into hungry, desperate lust. Sherlock's hands moved slowly over his back, and John held him close, pressing their bodies together. A tiny bit of John's brain noticed that Sherlock was starting to get a little bit squishy around his middle, less chiselled muscle and more soft curves. A neighbouring bit of brain that remembered liking women woke up at that, and he gripped tighter, prompting a breathy gasp from Sherlock.

Some minutes later, John realized the song had changed. He took half a step back from crowding his husband against the mantelpiece, and Sherlock struggled to keep himself upright.

_Every time we touch, I get this feeling,_   
_And every time we kiss, I swear I can fly._   
_Can't you feel my heart beat fast?_   
_I want this to last._   
_Need you by my side._

Insistent fingers reached for John's belt, and his breath left him in a rush. But Sherlock seemed so excited that he was unable to focus, and once the belt was undone, he instead tugged at John's shirts, pushing his jumper up and then going after his buttons with shaking hands.

John pushed his hands aside and went for the same spot on Sherlock, pulling his shirt out of his trousers and carefully undoing the buttons from his throat down to below his navel. He bent over and brushed a kiss over the skin he'd just exposed, and then unfastened the trousers and slowly pushed them down over Sherlock's arse, nuzzling as he went. Sherlock sounded almost like he was suffocating when John breathed on his half-hard cock through the thin cotton of his pants. Fingertips bit into John's shoulders. “Ouch.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Sherlock slipped down, falling to his knees face-to-face with John. He seemed about to speak again, but apparently changed his mind and kissed him instead. In a few moments he had lowered John to his back on the floor before the fire, and was thoroughly exploring his face and neck with kisses while his hands roamed further down, sliding under John's shirt and pushing it up. John sat up halfway, enough for Sherlock to get the whole thing over his head with one tug, and then he felt the warmth of the fire on his bare skin and pushed Sherlock's shirt off his shoulders in an attempt to even the score.

Then they were kissing again, pressed skin-to-skin and just beginning to glow with a delicate sheen of perspiration. Sherlock nipped the side of John's neck, and licked slowly down, to his clavicle, and his scar, then slowed to lavish attention on his left nipple, drawing delighted sighs from John's chest. Eventually the sensations all began to blur together, and time slowed to a crawl.

_Yellow diamonds in the light  
Now we're standing side by side._

Sherlock nuzzled John's crotch, and his voice was muffled. “Aren't you finding this interesting?”

John chuckled. “Sherlock, darling, I love you, but I don't have any more in me.”

“Hmpf.” Sherlock nipped the inside of his thigh. “Boring.”

“Middle age, sorry.”

He slid back up John's body, then stretched out along his side, one long leg thrown across him and one arm resting on his chest. He looked down at John through his eyelashes. “Truth be told, I'm a bit spent as well.”

John pressed his hip into Sherlock's groin. “Your penis disagrees.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It doesn't know what it wants. It reacts reflexively to your bare skin; I don't think I could actually go again.”

“Oversensitive?”

“A bit.”

“Come here, then.” He pulled gently at him, and got Sherlock to cuddle close to his side, with his head pillowed on John's good shoulder.

_We found love in a hopeless place.  
We found love in a hopeless place._

John nuzzled the curls briefly. “I like this grey bit you have.”

“That doesn't make any sense.”

“It doesn't have to.”

“And it's not grey, it's white.”

“Whatever it is, I'm happy you haven't tried to dye it.”

“What makes you think I'd do that?”

“Your immense vanity.”

“I'm not vain.”

“If I could just disagree with you on a little point there, you're the most vain person I know.”

Sherlock shifted to look up at John. “I really doubt that.”

“Maybe. You're the most vain person in the flat, though.”

“I'm not sure about that.”

“You have approximately two dozen bottles of goop in the bath. And Alexa didn't bother buying a hair dryer when she moved in, because she just uses yours. You even have that weird attachment that looks like a torture device.”

“It's a diffuser. It's for drying curly hair.”

“My point exactly. Most people have no idea what it is.”

“You get your hair cut more frequently than I do.”

“Your hair is more forgiving. If I go too long between cuts I start looking like Bilbo Baggins.”

“What? Oh, from that fantasy film. You look nothing like him.”

“Yeah, thanks. You know that actor's on all sorts of World's Sexiest lists.”

“I didn't know that, but I'm surprised you do.”

“Alexa shows me. She thinks it's hilarious.”

“She doesn't show me.” He somehow managed to sound hurt.

“She knows you're not a connoisseur of cat videos like I am.”

“I just don't see the point in all that internet stuff.”

“That hasn't stopped you from using it on cases. Say what you want, I know you're glad it exists.”

“Hm. Perhaps.”

John smiled, and held him close as the next song started.

_I don't know you_   
_But I want you_   
_All the more for that._

Sherlock seemed to know the lyrics to this one. He mouthed them against John's skin, and when the music swelled into the chorus, he began singing out loud, just strongly enough for John to hear.

_Take this sinking boat_   
_And point it home_   
_We've still got time._

Sherlock's voice resonated through both of them, and John would have marvelled at the sensuality of it if he hadn't been so swept up. The music felt sad, somehow longing, deeply emotional. He didn't pay attention to the meaning of the words, just let Sherlock carry them on the melody.

Eventually the song ended, and after a moment of silence another began, something poppy that seemed familiar. From somewhere on the other side of the room, Sherlock's phone chimed with Alexa's text alert, and John blinked groggily. “It's your phone.”

A deep sigh. “Yes, I heard it the first time.”

“The first time?”

“Ten minutes ago. You were … distracted.”

“Do you think she's on her way home?”

“Let's see.” He placed one last kiss in the centre of John's chest, then got halfway to his feet and grabbed his phone off the table.

_I don't know if I can yell any louder._   
_How many times have I kicked you out of here?_   
_Or said something insulting?_

He sank into John's armchair as he unlocked the phone and read the two text messages. “Oh. Marie's mother has invited us to have dinner with all of them.”

John lifted up on his elbows and watched the firelight play on the long expanses of his husband's bare skin. “What do you think?”

“Alexa says if we're done having sex on every surface in the flat, she'd really like us to come out.”

John laughed. “Double entendre on purpose?”

Sherlock smirked as he typed. “She _is_ our daughter.”

“What are you telling her?”

“To give us forty-five minutes to find our pants, and then we'll meet them.”

“How did you ever get by before you had her to embarrass?”

“Mycroft got the worst of it.” He reached out and dropped the phone back on the table. “Forty-five minutes gives us enough time to snog a bit more before we get dressed.”

John sat up and leaned against the other chair. “Honestly, I'd rather not wait. It's chilly in here, and this song isn't exactly … sexy.”

_I always say how I don't need you_   
_But it's always gonna come right back to this:_   
_Please, don't leave me._

Sherlock snorted a little laugh. “No, it isn't.”

“So why's it on the playlist then?”

“It's an angsty breakup song.” He got up and looked around for his trousers, then slipped into them and kicked John's tangled shirts towards him. “This is mostly Alexa's playlist, and she uses it for rather different things than we do.”

“I should hope so.” John got stiffly to his feet, and began sorting out his clothing so he could put it back on. “At least she has good taste in music.”

“Mm. Yes.”


	12. Coda

Alexa and the other women arrived at Angelo's only a few minutes before Sherlock and John appeared through the busy crowd of pedestrians on the street. Alexa pushed the door open and hugged them as they came in. Sherlock smiled contentedly while John ruffled her hair. “Hello, sweetheart. How was your day?”

“It was great,” she said. “How about you? Have fun together?”

“A bit,” John replied with a smirk. “Decorated the flat a little bit too, for Christmas. I hope you don't mind.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “I don't care, you're welcome to do it all. You remember Marie's mum?”

“Of course. Great to see you again, Kathleen.” He kissed her on the cheek.

“Likewise,” she laughed, and slightly awkwardly shook Sherlock's hand after John stepped back. “I'm so glad you both could join us. It's been far too long since all five of us have been together.”

Billy appeared then, and led the way to a table that was tucked into a corner, but Sherlock touched Alexa's elbow and kept her beside him at the entrance. She looked briefly after the others, then turned to him. “What?”

“What happened today?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” He seemed to realize the brusqueness of his tone, and shifted his stance as his face and voice softened. “Something between you and Marie. What was it?”

She glanced across the dining room, then bit her lip. “Is it so obvious?”

“No. In fact, you're doing an excellent job of pretending that nothing is wrong.”

“Nothing _is_ wrong, exactly.”

“But something's on your mind.”

She sighed. “They'll be missing us.”

“Then be quick in telling me.”

“I don't have to.”

“You want to.”

“Ugh, _Dad_.” She scowled at him. “I hate when you do that.”

“Alexa.”

“Fine.” She loosened her scarf, and leaned towards the wall. “Marie came out to me today.”

“And?”

“And nothing. I told her it doesn't matter to me. Nothing's changed between us, just I know now. I promised not to tell anyone.”

“You know you can count on my discretion. And anyway, I already knew. But you're upset about something, you're worried.” Her downturned gaze was all the confirmation he needed. “What's worrying you?”

“She … she said she's not attracted to me or anything. That our relationship is going to be the same as it's always been.”

“Surely you don't have a problem with that.”

“I don't. But I'm worried it's not true.”

“She wouldn't lie to you. She hasn't lied to you.”

“I know. But … but things change. Relationships evolve. We're best friends now, like sisters. But will that really stay the same? What if … what if she falls in love with me?” She was whispering now, and staring wide-eyed at her father.

“That's an awfully big what if.”

“But it's what happened to you and Papa.” Realization dawned on Sherlock as she barrelled onward. “He was your best friend, and you fell in love with him. And it worked out, because it turned out he loved you back, even though he wasn't gay. But I don't think I'm like Papa, and I'd have to break her heart. I couldn't turn lesbian, not even for her.”

“First of all,” Sherlock interrupted, “your Papa never _turned gay_ , his preferences have always included men, if only in a limited way. And second of all, our story is hardly typical. You know better than anyone else how true that is. My only regret about my marriage is that it's a terrible relationship model for you.”

“You can't possibly be as atypical as you think, though. You like to exaggerate yourself, Dad; you're never quite as special as you think you are.”

Sherlock's eyes narrowed very slightly. “I'll give you a pass on that one because you're too young to know better and I don't want to ruin a lovely evening. But you should trust me when I say that I've made a career of studying so-called _normal_ relationships, and what I have with John absolutely does not qualify.”

Alexa looked sheepish. “Sorry.”

“Look, I know you're nervous. As much as you don't want things to be different, her coming out has affected your relationship. It's inevitable, really. But it doesn't have to be a bad thing.” He put his hand on her arm. “Trust her to know her own heart, Alexa. She knows you, and she loves you. She trusts you enough to come out to you. And no matter how much you care about someone, how much you think you know them, that's a huge leap of faith.”

“I guess.”

“She trusts that you accept her the way she is. If in the future her feelings change – and I must stress, that's highly unlikely – the two of you will deal with it in whatever way is best for you. Your friendship is strong. You can cope with anything that comes your way.”

She smiled a little. “You really think so? You're not just saying that?”

“I know it. You're my daughter, after all.” He gave her arm a final squeeze and shrugged out of his overcoat. “Let's go join the rest of them.”

“Okay. And thanks. I guess I needed to talk about it.”

“Feel better?”

“Yeah. You're pretty good at this.”

“I try.” He nudged her in the direction of the table where the others were already sitting, studying the menus.

“Everything all right?” John asked as they approached.

“Fine.” Sherlock kissed him lightly, then sat down between him and Alexa. “We just needed a little father-daughter chat. Has Billy told you the specials yet?”

“Hang on a tick,” Alexa said. “Papa, you're wearing glasses.”

He grinned. “Do you like them?”

“They make you look old.”

Marie and Kathleen laughed, and Sherlock muttered something unintelligible that made John's ears go pink. “Don't feel bad, John,” Kathleen said, “I've needed glasses to see my computer for years now. I think they're very stylish.”

“Thanks,” John said, removing them slightly awkwardly. “I wish I could take credit, but Sherlock picked them out and surprised me with them earlier today.”

“That's what you did with your day alone together?” Marie said. “Reading glasses aren't romantic.”

John turned even pinker, and Sherlock cleared his throat. “I do believe the special tonight is aubergine risotto. That should give you the carbs you need after dancing all day, Marie. And Kathleen, I remember you like sauvignon blanc. Angelo has a particularly good one from California right now; I thought the three of us could share a bottle.”

 

An hour later, both girls had devoured their risotto, while the adults were still finishing their meals and wine. During a protracted lull in the conversation, Alexa suddenly sat up. “Oh! Other Mum, you said you had a new pun.”

“ _Other Mum?”_ John said incredulously.

“A pun!” Marie said. “Oh, tell me!”

“As opposed to her biological mother,” Sherlock explained. “For the same reason that Marie accidentally called you Dad a few months ago.”

“I was mostly asleep at the time,” Marie said defensively.

“Better him than your real father,” Kathleen muttered.

“Um, pun?” Alexa said. “I was promised a pun and I'm not hearing any puns!”

“All right, all right,” Kathleen said, and turned to her daughter. “Have you heard the one about the Buddhist monk who had a root canal without any anaesthetic?”

“I have,” Sherlock said, and everyone turned in surprise. He bit back a grin as he delivered the punch line: “He said he wanted to transcend dental medication.”

Marie emitted a high-pitched squeak of delight, and John and Alexa broke into chuckles as the joke sank in. “Where did you hear that one?” John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. “I've known it for ages.”

“I heard it from a colleague today,” Kathleen added. “It's awfully clever, isn't it?”

“The clever ones are the best,” Marie agreed. “But there's something to be said for the stupid ones too.”

“I thought the point of a pun was that it's a clever play on words?” John said.

Alexa leaned forward. “What do you call a fish with no eye?”

Sherlock bit his lip as he grinned at her, and Marie grabbed her mother's arm in an effort to contain herself. John glanced around, perplexed. “I don't know, what?”

“ _FSH!_ ” they all said together, and burst into giggles just as Angelo came over.

He clapped John on the shoulder. “Everything all right here?”

“I think I need more wine.”

“Bring another bottle,” Sherlock said, catching his breath. “That Dry Creek Zinfandel this time. And I think the girls saved room for dessert.”

Alexa's eyes widened. “Do you have tiramisu today?”

Angelo winked at her. “For you, always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of this story! Thanks so much for reading, and it would make my day if you left me a comment. Happy solstice, merry Christmas, happy 2014, and most of all, HAPPY SERIES THREE!!


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